


A Christmas Coil

by ColossalMistake



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:47:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28461894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColossalMistake/pseuds/ColossalMistake
Summary: The Charles Dickens classic, retold on Earth Bet.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18
Collections: The Cauldron Give-a-Fic-a-Thon





	A Christmas Coil

Atticus was dead, to begin with. Of that there was no doubt. The crowd of two watched impassively as the artic wind blew and the casket was lowered to its final resting place. 

The clergyman finished his speech, asking not that they remember Atticus as he was, but that the Lord above grant him mercy for his sins. The first mourner, if she could be called that, stepped forwards to fill the silence. She did not partake in the garb of the occasion, forgoing subdued dresses of black and veils of grey in favour of bright yellow layers and heels of gold, a pendant around her neck bearing the gemstone of her namesake. 

She refused the clergyman’s half-hearted request, turning her nose up as he tried to give her the shovel. She would not lay the first batch of dirt upon Atticus’ casket. Instead, she gave an offering of a different sort, a final goodbye as she spat upon the grave and turned away, disappearing into the night. 

Thomas Calvert watched it all, a dispassionate expression on his face. For many years, he and Atticus had been partners, joined together by a shared goal and mutual acquaintances. They had sought to bring a semblance of order to an inherently chaotic world, a tale of twin cities on the eastern coast, both thriving under their guidance. 

But Atticus had been a fool in the end. His best-laid plans were all for naught, when he was not around to see them through to completion. 

As the gravediggers began the final task of the burial, Calvert walked away, leaving Atticus far behind. His driver didn’t say a word as he slipped into the back seat of the jet-black motor vehicle, and began a quiet journey back to the Brockton Bay. 

Flakes of white danced and drifted past tinted windows as they drove, a double-edged sword for his needs. Construction efforts would slow, but heroic response times almost doubled in weather like this. Calvert idly pondered if he could make use of it, all thoughts of the man who had been his partner long gone. 

A tapping on the screen at the front of his armoured limousine brought him out of his trance. Two paths diverged in the woods, and Calvert took them both. 

In one, he rested his head against the leather upholstery and watched the world go by as the driver continued on to an unassuming home in Brockton’s suburbs. 

In the other, he discarded the garments of a mourner with practiced efficiency, and slipped into something more comfortable. 

When the man he paid handsomely to serve as his chauffeur finally pulled over into an old parking garage, it was Coil who emerged from within the confines. He was unbothered by the blistering cold, despite his second skin being so thin. Temperature meant little to one such as him, for no warmth could thaw his heart, nor freezing winds chill it further, for it had no further to go. 

Tucked away from sight, in the most secluded corner of the garage, sat a metal cage. Quietly, it descended into the ground, the rattling of its bars swiftly suppressed by the sea of concrete above. 

Coil stepped out of the elevator onto a steel catwalk, and gazed upon his underground kingdom. The base had been completed many months ago, and now it bustled with activity. Far below, mercenary captains directed their men through drills as contractors ran hither and yon, clipboards or stacks of notes in their hands. Five young adults gathered around a heavy vault door, set directly into the reinforced walls, as an older man emerged from the infirmary carrying a syringe on a tray. 

He dismissed them all for the time being, and strode along the metal flooring to reach an office at the highest point of the compound. Here, the walls were at their sturdiest, which came as a relief to many, as it granted them a brief respite from having to look upon Coil’s person. Even the most callous of their number felt a twinge of pity for the poor souls forced to work within Coil’s lair. 

Hinges squealed as the inner door swung open, revealing a round room too large for the furniture it contained. Two desks occupied the space, one close to the rear wall, the other sitting at the room’s midpoint, dividing the space in twain. The rear desk helped obscure a hidden door set into the back wall, while the closer desk was turned at such an angle that whoever sat there would have their work clearly visible to the individual behind them. A preventative measure against schemers and plotters whose goals may run counter to his plans.

Bottle glass green eyes looked up from that desk as he entered the room, bloodshot and weary. Her lavender costume was scrunched, ruffled from a day’s work poring over screens and following up on the leads his private investigators had uncovered. She handed him a manila folder as he crossed the room, and Coil thought little of it until she refused to let go.

“Is something the matter?” He asked, curtly.

Tattletale smiled faintly. “Well, Mr. Coil, we’ve almost reached the end of the month.”

Was he to congratulate her on her ability to understand a calendar? The youth of today.

“And it's just that you did say at the end of the month, you’d think about bonuses for hardworking employees...” She let the question hang in the air.

A good thing he did not dole out that praise, for short-lived it would have been. “The last time I checked, December had thirty-one days, not twenty-four.”

Her smile dimmed a little. “But Mr. Coil, ‘tis Christmas Day tomorrow, and I’d hoped to make a present of it for my fa- my friends.”

“Ah, Christmas Day. Another excuse for you and your hoodlums to skip work. Convenient.” 

Tattletale’s eyes fell, a forlorn expression spreading across her face. “But-” 

“I will hear no more of this foolishness. You should count yourself lucky you get the day off at all. Now be gone with you, and do not darken my compound again until you have learned some manners.” 

Tattletale wiped at her face with the back of her hand, and took off out the door. Useful or no, if she tried his patience like that again he would lock the office with her inside and not let her out until she’d compiled a year’s worth of dossiers. 

Idly, he flicked through the folder, only to be interrupted by a knock upon the door. His counterpart at home sighed as Coil turned to dismiss the latest interruption to his work. 

A gaggle of pests in red and black costumes stood sheepishly in his doorway. Their spokesperson, a greasy, hook-nosed man, swept his top hat off and bowed elaborately. 

“Good evening to you, Mr. Coil.” 

“And goodbye to you, Mr. Trickster.” 

“It is the season of goodwill and kindness, so we come to you today asking for your aid- I'm sorry, what?” 

“Goodbye. It is a common expression.” 

Trickster glanced back at his companions, clearly caught wrong-footed. “Uhm, boss, it's just that we’ve been asking you for a solution for months, and-” 

“And one has not yet presented itself, despite your incessant nagging. Now leave me, take your goodwill and your kindness and shove them into that gluttonous pit you call a girlfriend.” 

One by one, the melancholic Travellers departed. He had been far too lenient with them, in his esteemed opinion. They already bled his wallet with the gaping maw that was their sixth member, and they had the audacity to ask for more? He would not hear of it. 

With his peace secured, Coil locked the door and settled down at the rear desk, reading through files at his leisure. In the other reality, Calvert finished brushing his teeth and made for bed, a deep tiredness settling over his bones. 

In both realities, he yawned, exhausted by the problems of others. The trip to and from Boston, the continuous whining of his employees, his goal so tantalisingly close yet just out of reach, it was all so tiring. 

Calvert’s head hit the pillow, and one reality turned to black. 

Coil yawned again, and placed the folder down. He’d just rest his eyes here for a minute. 

He did not know how long he rested there, but when the sound of something clanking drew his attention, Coil found his eyelids were sluggish to open. A glance at the monitor on his desk showed the security camera feed, the outside world dark and uninviting. 

Metal clanked once again, and he shot upright. He tried to reach for his other timeline, but it wasn’t there. Had it been closed on accident? 

A flush of panic ran through his body as Coil slid the pistol out from under his desk, spun his chair one hundred and eighty degrees, and- 

“Good heavens.” 

Before his very eyes stood a figure he’d buried not seven hours before. A diminutive man, floating gently in the air behind his desk, dressed in a tattered business suit and an articulated mask. An ethereal glow tinged the edges of his form, and Coil could clearly see the lights of his office through the intruder’s torso. 

Coil blinked, not believing his own vision. “Atticus? Atticus Cord? Is that you?” 

“Caaaal-veeeeert...” came the haunting reply, more of a wail than an answer. 

“But you have ceased to be?” 

Atticus slowly shook his head from side to side. “Don’t phrase that as if it were a question. It should be a statement, for I am undeniably dead.” 

“And yet here you are, within mine office?” 

Atticus’ ethereal form twitched. “Never start a sentence with a conjunction.” 

"Hm. You have certainly done your research.” Underneath his mask, Coil’s sneered. “Yet you are a imbecile to come here. The real Atticus has departed from this world. So who are you, really?” 

The endless possibilities ran through his steel trap of a mind. A cape’s work, that much was clear, but how? Perception changes? A generator of duplicates? 

“Your caution is unwarranted. It is I, the one and only Atticus Cord.” The intruder raised his translucent arms, the sound of clanking metal echoing in the small office. Coil glanced at the would-be Atticus’ wrists, noting similarly see-through chains trailing from the invader’s arms, wrapping around his three-piece suit and down to his ankles. 

“I have come back to deliver a warning unto you, Calvert.” 

Troubling, that an apparition knew his name. His opponent had been thorough indeed. “Threats, then? Begone with you. I will not heed the advice of an illusion.” 

The lips of Atticus’ mask twitched in annoyance. “I have returned from the very bowels of hell itself, to give you a chance to change your ways.” 

“Even if you were my old partner, why would I listen to your hogwash? You failed. I learn nothing from a failure.” 

“Then you are a _fool,"_ boomed Atticus, his tiny frame suddenly filling the cavernous room. Coil stepped back and instincts from years brought his pistol up. Three shots, centre mass. 

Atticus was unperturbed, as the bullets whizzed through his ghostly chest. “You must change your ways, Calvert. There is time for you to make amends.” 

“Begone, foul spectre. You have no place here,” snarled Coil. 

Shaking his head, Atticus began to fade from view, like breath on a mirror. “So be it. Disregard my warning if you will, but know that I am not alone in this endeavour. Three spirits of the ethereal plane will make your acquaintance this night, Calvert.” 

This time it was Coil’s turn to shake his head. So certain in his ways, he almost missed Atticus’ parting words. 

“They will not be as forgiving, as I.” 

Then the phantom was gone, and Coil was once more alone in his office. He could feel beads of sweat under his brow, but the suit left him no way to wipe them. 

Quickly, he hurried back to his desk, and replayed the security footage there. 

Nothing. No sign of Atticus on any camera, nor a single reaction from his sleeping employees despite the gunshot. 

He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. It had been a bad dream. 

Coil let out a humourless chuckle, slid his gun back into its resting place, and laid back on the chair. All a silly dream. His eyelids drooped, and Coil returned to his slumber. 

A digital clock beeped, its alarm going off at the stroke of midnight. Reluctantly, Coil forced his eyes open again, and for the second time that night, he froze. 

Across the room from him was another translucent being, much like Atticus had been. But this one wore the heavy-duty uniform of a PRT officer, stood at parade rest, and had a ghostly rifle slung over her shoulder. No cuffs bound her, nor rattling chains followed her. 

“Piggot? Emily Piggot, is that you?” 

“That’s Lady to you, soldier.” Her voice sounded just the way he remembered it, containing the steel and the fury that had long since been dampened. 

Coil was on his feet in an instant, fighting down the old urge to salute. “But you yet live? How can this be?” 

“Typical Calvert. Always demanding answers and whining until he gets them.” Lady snorted in derision, crossing the room and resting her hand on the door. “If you’re that desperate to find out, then you’ll have to follow me.” 

Cautiously, Coil stepped after her. 

“Fall in, officer!” 

Lady pulled the door open as he picked up the pace, and a haze of white clouded his vision. 

He wiped at his costume’s face, and gasped at the sight before him. They were no longer in his underground base of operations. They were on a busy street that ran alongside the coast, waves lapping against the shore as makes of car he hadn’t seen for nigh-on twenty years trundled down icy roads. He looked out at the Bay, watching the ships coming and going from its port. He looked further, out at the water, and could not find hide nor hair of a forcefield-protected oil rig. 

People walked past in layers of scarves and coats and hats, their heads down to protect them from the wind. One of them walked towards him, on a collision course with a man dressed as a known supervillain. 

Then they continued to walk on by, ignoring both the notorious villain and the PRT officer in combat gear. In fact, nobody was paying them any attention at all. 

“A Stranger effect?” He asked. 

“Not quite,” Lady replied. 

He glanced back, but she wasn’t offering anything further. Coil looked away, his eyes roving over storefronts that seemed ever so familiar. 

Old Man Jenkins cleaning the window of his butcher’s shop, where a younger Thomas had once stolen a roll of sausages out from under the elder’s nose. A half-constructed wooden walkway, expanding the coastal stores out into a fully-fledged Boardwalk. Foundations being laid in an empty lot, where he knew the Medhall building would one day stand. 

All sights he hadn’t seen since he was a lad. Temporal manipulation? He’d heard of capes that could rewind themselves in short bursts, but to come so far back... 

“Time travel?” 

Lady didn’t answer him. “Move now, questions later. We’ve got a schedule to keep.” 

Curiously, Coil followed the almost see-through woman down snow-encrusted sidewalks, underneath hanging lights that flashed with all the colours of the rainbow, and past houses glowing warmly from the festive strings lining their windows, until they arrived at a home he’d not thought of in decades. 

He brushed past the apparition, and looked in through the window. A young boy sat inside, his parents on either side of him, groaning as one of them read a terrible joke from a cracker. 

The mother was willowy thin, almost skeletal, and short with kind eyes. The father was the opposite, so ludicrously tall that he had to stand at a slouch to avoid banging his forehead on doorframes, and built wide enough that he’d have trouble getting through doors even without the height problem. 

Coil felt a smile underneath his mask as he watched the boy, knowing the tall, skeletally thin man he would grow up to be. When the glass finally fogged over, his gloved fingers tried to wiped away the condensation, but came away dry. 

“Good memories?” 

He nodded slightly. “Very.” 

“Hold on to them. They’ll serve as a reminder. Of what you were like before that mad lust for control corrupted your mind.” Lady didn’t glare at him, but he could feel the disapproval in her words. 

Coil turned away from the window, noting not for the first time that neither of them had left any tracks in the fresh snow. “Pah. Codswollop. I have no such affliction. All I desire is to make the world a more reasonable place.” 

“With yourself at its head, making all the decisions.” Lady smiled, and it wasn’t a nice smile. “We have time for one more trip, and I doubt you’ll enjoy this one quite so much.” 

Before Coil could respond, a blizzard whipped up around them, obscuring his vision. 

It came back to the sight of flames and smoke, of bullets in motion and detonating grenades, of a mad king’s monstrous hordes and a desperate few survivors running with their lives on the line. 

Just the same as it looked in his dreams. 

He reached out as bedraggled soldiers ran past, trying to make contact with the lanky straggler at the back, falling behind, almost forgotten. 

“...Why did you bring us here?” 

“I already told you. A reminder. This is the day that need for control truly manifested, wasn’t it?” Lady replied, and there was no longer a smile on her face. “Bad orders, officers playing with lives, you didn’t want it any longer.” 

A soldier wearing the stripes of a sergeant dashed further ahead, waving frantically at a helicopter’s searchlights. Another of the beasts leapt from the shadows, catching an officer between its jaws. The soldier at the back ran around them, until it was just him and the sergeant screaming up at a pilot who couldn’t hear them. 

“That’s why you shot him, wasn’t it? He’d been too cavalier, and you’d all paid for it.” 

“Is it so wrong to want the most competent of us to make the decisions?” 

“It is when you let it consume you.” 

Coil ignored her, a smouldering anger in his stomach. 

“You...you’re a hoax! A fiend, an amateurish cape flexing their powers!” He growled. “The real Emily Piggot would never have brought me back here. Begone, for I will not listen to a fake.” 

The searchlights illuminated portions of her face, and Coil could only see disappointment there. 

“A pity. I’d hoped you would learn something from all this.” The thing that looked like Lady shrugged. “Well, the night’s still young. You might change your mind before too long.” 

“Begone!” 

His eyes shot open, the skintight suit slick with sweat. His chair tipped back as he dove under his desk, ripping the pistol out of its hidden compartment and pointing it around the room. 

For several long moments, the only sound to be heard was the thumping of his heart. 

Once again, he scanned the monitor on his desk, rewinding security footage of inside and out. Once again, there was no sign of the apparition, nor had anyone else in the base roused. 

Another bout of insanity. Emily Piggot of all people would not be haunting his sleep. 

Feeling more and more foolish, Coil slid his gun away and sat back at his desk, determined not to go to sleep. Yet the siren’s song of slumber was too alluring, and he found his eyelids drooping. 

“Coil?” 

He murmured something incomprehensible in response. 

“Cooooil?” The voice sang out, high-pitched like someone pretending to be a child. 

He batted half-heartedly towards the noise, hoping to quiet it. 

“Ninety-eight point seven percent chance you’ll be sorry if you don’t get up.” 

Coil sluggishly looked up from his desk, straight into the pale face of a young girl wearing a white long-sleeved shirt, white pyjama bottoms and white slippers. All the white contrasted against her dark brown hair, and she seemed thin enough that she might float away in a stiff breeze. 

“Pet?” He croaked, thoughts resolving into clarity. 

She tilted her hand in a so-so gesture. 

“You’re supposed to be...” The realisation woke him like a splash of cold water, and Coil dashed for the rear of the room, yanking open the door hidden in the wall. 

A blast of freezing air met him as the door swung inwards, his pet’s room nowhere to be found. The momentum almost carried him straight out into open air, an endless sky so far up he could not see the earth below. 

Then something small collided with the back of his knees, and Coil slipped over the edge. 

The world spun, the ground getting closer and closer and closer... 

“Pretty good landing, don’t you think?” 

Spitting snow out of his costume’s mouth, Coil glared at the thing that looked like his pet as he forced himself out of a convenient snowdrift. 

“I suppose you’re here to ruin my peaceful night as well?” 

She whistled innocently. 

“Best you leave now, before you waste both our time.” 

“You really don’t want that. Trust me.” 

Coil dismissed her with a wave of his hand, brushing the snow off the suit with his free arm. When he looked up, she was gone, vanished into the night. 

“Come on, let’s go already!” 

He pointedly did not jump as his pet’s voice sounded right in his ear. He turned, and she was already halfway down the street. Lacking any other recourse, he reluctantly followed. 

The snow here did not hold the same lustre that it once possessed. The flakes of white only served to remind him of how his plans would be impacted, falling from the same sky that too often held an annoyance from the Protectorate or one of those irritating blondes in white tights. 

All the way, he grumbled and groused, until eventually the most recent annoyance to add to the pile skidded to a halt outside a red brick factory with a massive sliding metal door. A young woman wrapped up in a thick lavender coat, her dark blonde braid blowing in the wind, was opening a second smaller door a little further along the wall. 

“Tattletale?” He asked, curiously. She didn’t answer, nor give any indication that she’d even heard him.

Something tugged gently on his arm, and Coil allowed his pet to lead them through the opening into a dark dusty room with a spiral staircase in the corner. There were loud noises coming from the floor above, raised voices and barking dogs.

Quietly, his Tattletale closed the door behind them, and shuddered out a sigh. Her cheeks were red from the cold, making her freckles stand out more than usual. Exhaustion was writ large in her body.

A loud crash sounded from upstairs, followed by further bouts of shouting. Tattletale hung her head. When she looked back up, he could see a well-worn smile plastered there. She hauled herself up the spiral steps, the pair of them following in her wake. 

His Undersiders were assembled upstairs in the converted loft, gathered around a Christmas tree that had toppled over. A very pleased bulldog was chewing on the trunk, with pieces of glittery tinsel on its snout. 

“How many times Bitch? Keep the dogs away from the decorations!” Shouted Grue, dressed in civilian wear instead of that motorcycle outfit he seemed to love. 

“Shouldn’t put a fucking tree inside then,” Bitch growled back. 

Regent sat off to the side on the couch, feet raised as baubles rolled underneath his legs. Coil watched it all inquisitively. 

“Hey gang!” 

For a moment their argument ceased as Tattletale grabbed everyone’s attention, with forced cheer in her voice. Casually, she slid herself into the middle of the confrontation, talking down the team’s leader and their heavy hitter. 

“She’s the one that keeps them all functioning.” He looked down at the sound of his pet’s voice. Tattletale was making calming gestures towards Grue and Bitch, her voice an oasis of calm. Bitch snapped her fingers, and another pair of dogs emerged from the other side of the room, coming to stand on either side of their master. 

“They’ve been getting worse and worse without her here to manage them,” said his pet, and Coil did not fail to notice the emphasis she placed on _here._

“A necessary sacrifice. She’s unruly. The only way to stop her plots and schemes is to keep a close eye on her,” Coil responded, defensively. 

“Or you could just try talking to her. Person to person, instead of megalomaniac to hostage.” 

The dogs all had their hackles raised as wisps of inky darkness drifted off of Grue’s form. Bitch’s arm spasmed before she could snap her fingers again, and Regent forced his way into the argument. 

“Will they fall apart?” Coil asked, a touch of concern in his voice. 

His pet shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe they’ll tear each other apart or split up peacefully.” She fixed him with a knowing look. “Lots of possibilities out there.” 

With a final shout towards the rest of the Undersiders, Bitch stormed out of the room, completing ignoring Coil as she made for the exit. 

“If Tattletale was here more often, she could have helped them work through these issues. Could have been a happy family at Christmas. You remember what that was like, don’t you?” 

Coil thought back to the young boy in the window, cheerily opening his presents while his parents smiled down. The rest of the Undersiders were still arguing even with Bitch gone. Regent bore the brunt of their ire before the younger boy turned on his heel and headed out the door too. Grue followed shortly afterwards, barely contained fury seeping out on his face. 

In the end, Tattletale stood alone in the Undersiders loft. Slowly, she crouched and started lifting the Christmas tree upright again. Some of the decorations had shattered against the wooden floor. 

“But they aren’t the only ones affected by your need for control.” 

Before he could ask another question, Coil found his vision spinning as the converted loft disappeared, only to find himself in a very familiar underground base. A heavy vault door sat in front of him, surrounded by five young adults on folding chairs. 

The blonde and the girl in a wheelchair were silently drinking eggnog. The one built like a quarterback was wearing a lopsided paper crown, his head in his hands as the quiet boy patted his shoulder. Their leader, still wearing his top hat, was reading one of the terrible jokes from inside a cracker towards a video screen mounted on the vault. 

“Are you ever going to help them? Or just keep them under your thumb forever?” Asked his pet, already knowing the answer. 

Concrete walls and steel pillars vanished, until they were above a large house in the richer part of town. Then an apartment, filled with ill-gotten goods. Then a dilapidated warehouse, terraced homes in a low-income neighbourhood, a fancy penthouse... 

“Stop this! They cannot all be in such dire circumstances!” Coil exclaimed, and the world finally began to slow. 

This time, he found himself looking down at a tiny cell of a room, tucked away inside a concrete fortress. A child sat alone inside, crying softly to herself, the sleeves of her white shirt stained from the moisture. He looked between his pets, one quietly sobbing, the other standing alongside him. 

“She had to be contained! If left to her own devices, she would have opposed me! Her power was too useful to be ignored!” Coil spat at the fiend who had dragged him through these visions, but his arguments didn’t feel as solid as they once had. 

“Perhaps. Or perhaps not. We’ll never know now.” 

“This is the only way things could have gone,” Coil muttered to himself. “I had to take her. I had to keep all of them in line.” 

He glanced down at his real pet, watching as she shuddered from her latest dose of candy, and a hint of uncertainty crept into his tone. 

“Didn’t I?” 

The spirit smiled slightly. “Now you’re asking the right questions.” 

Something crashed behind him, and Coil leapt upright. Several thick folders had been tossed to the floor. Slowly, he collected them again, deliberately not looking at the concealed door to the rear of the room. 

He didn’t bother checking the security cameras, knowing that they would come up empty. One more of these blasted visions, that’s what Atticus has said. Just one more. He could handle that. 

This time, he didn’t try to fight the encroaching drowsiness, as he settled back in his leather chair. 

The sound that woke him once more was not a child’s laugh, a soldier’s orders, or the call of an old acquaintance. Barely audible even in the silence, he heard something slither into the room, quiet as a mouse. Like a leaking pipe letting out a little gas before an explosion. 

Coil rose without being asked, into a room so devoid of light that he was unable to see his own hand in front of his face. 

Two pinpricks formed in the shifting darkness, dull yellow searchlights leading him out. It wasn’t easy going, for the floor writhed and wriggled underneath his feet, but Coil didn’t stop until he was through. 

Stumbling out of the dark, he glanced around at the new surroundings. The sky was overcast, turning the world beneath into a murky gloom. Overgrown trees didn’t help, throwing the monochrome scene further into the shade. On his left, he could make out the entirety of Brockton Bay, seeming so small from this distance. 

But there was something wrong with the picture. Plumes of smoke choked the darkened sky, rising from a burning Boardwalk. A twenty-storey tall high rise was tilted to one side, the underground base in its foundations visible and damaged. Some of the streets were submerged under several feet of water, while others had been torn open revealing the pipes beneath. 

A blast of blinding white light tore through the sky, followed swiftly by a dazzlingly blue beam. Coil watched their duel with morbid fascination, the blue streak almost effortlessly gaining the upper hand as it fired out laser after laser, lighting up the night. Within moments, the white light faded as it crashed out against a rooftop. The blue streak resolved itself into the shape of a man, and Coil finally turned away, his mind filled with questions. 

Solemn stone markers traced the path, rows upon rows of weathered headstones. Twice he checked over his shoulder to see if there was anyone there, but the graveyard remained empty save for him. Shadows played tricks with his eyes, for the grave markers seemed to stretch on forever. A far larger resting place than the one he remembered. 

His walk picked up to a jog, then a run, sprinting past graves that never ended. Shadows danced around him, his power unavailable when he needed it most, until his legs shook with exertion and his breaths came short and sharp. 

“Why here?” He called out to the night. “Why have you brought me here, of all places?!” 

The only response came from the wind, howling through the air.

Coil slumped against one of the graves, a scraping of moss coming away from the stone as he slid down. Idly, he glanced at the inscription. 

_Here Lies Lisa Wilbourn, 1994 – 2012_

The other graves loomed as he backed away, the names they bore showing the depth of his failure. Brian Laborn, Rachel Lindt, Dinah Alcott... 

More names could be found wherever he looked. Not just the villains under his employ, but heroes too. Victoria Dallon and Francis Krouse, alongside Missy Biron and Aisha Laborn...

And for what? A city in flames? That wasn’t what he’d wanted. Someone had needed to take the reigns, to bring some sort of order to a city that refused to make sense.

Next year. 2012. All his plans would come to naught. They led to fire and death and destruction, not to a paradise of his own making.

He’d fallen for the same damn trap as Atticus.

He’d overreached. 

Staggering backwards from the sight, Coil turned to run. 

He made it three steps before the shadows stopped flitting between the graves, and charged him. He ducked left, tried to run again and found the path blocked by a wall that writhed and squirmed. 

Another wall came from the rear, herding him further to the side. 

A single grave lay there, alone. Unlike the others, this one was open, a hole and a headstone with no casket. 

Edging his way backwards, Coil brought up his hands to plead with the ferocious darkness. 

“I saw the dates on those graves! Those days have not yet come to pass! I... I can change things!” 

A tendril lashed out of the dark, a buzzing noise sounding in his ear before it retracted. 

“These are only visions of what can be, are they not?!” 

Chunks of earth gave way beneath his feet as Coil hurriedly stopped, balancing on the very lip of the hole. 

“Then I can do things better!” 

Finally, a figure emerged from within the writhing walls. Thousands of tiny creatures swarmed throughout its body, chittering and buzzing in place of words. Two dull yellow eyes looked out from the mass, the only indication that whatever was beneath had once been human. 

“Can’t I?” Coil asked, his voice subdued. 

The figure didn’t answer. It raised its arm, pointing just behind Coil. He glanced back at the lone gravestone, and read the name etched upon it. 

_Here Lies Thomas Calvert_

There was little room for doubt now. He’d gone too far, and this was where his path would lead. 

Before Coil could get his thoughts together, the thing removed an object from within the confines of its mass. 

“Wait-” In the second it took to plead for mercy, the creature had already pulled the trigger. 

For the final time that night, Coil awoke with a start. The security cameras showed the world outside, the first rays of dawn’s light starting to creep over the horizon of a snow-drenched city. Soldiers of fortune were waking throughout the base as the most diligent of his contractors slowly trickled in through concealed hatches. 

The date on his computer monitor filled him with hope. December twenty-fifth, 2011. A day celebrated throughout the world. 

A day for him to be better. 

There was still a chance. 

He could feel his other reality, safe and sound at home. He closed that world without a second thought. There was work to do, and it couldn’t be done from his bed. 

Without a second thought, he sped from the room, firing off instructions at every employee in passing. A few odd looks from the mercenaries were shot his way, but they’d complied with weirder requests before. 

Twenty minutes later, the hidden door in Coil’s office slowly creaked open. A bleary-eyed Dinah looked up from her camp bed, and blinked in shock. A skeletally thin man stood there, wearing a great red coat trimmed with white fur and cinched at the waist by a large black belt. His pants were the same shade of scarlet, ending at a pair of black boots. The lower half of his face was obscured behind a false beard attached to his ears, while the upper half was still hidden behind a black and white snake costume. Completing the ensemble was a fur-lined red hat, its triangular tip culminating in a little ball of white fur that swung loosely from his head. 

“Merry Christmas pe- I mean Merry Christmas Miss Alcott!” He announced. “Santa Coil has come to town!” 

The drug-addled girl predictably did nothing. Well, there’d be time to sort that later. 

“Come along my dear, we’ve got some changes to make, and Santa Coil needs his helper!” 

With a very confused young girl following him, Coil headed to his limousine and drove merrily out of the base. A convoy of quickly decorated army surplus vehicles followed him, each one repainted to resemble reindeers and sleighs. 

They came to a stop outside a familiar red brick factory, and Coil led his merry men inside. A few were still pulling on bright green gloves or pointy hats, but most were already wearing elf costumes over the top of their tactical gear. 

“Undersiders! A Merry Christmas to you all!” Coil ascended the spiral staircase two at a time, laughing freely with each step. 

“Who are you and why are you in our house?” Tattletale replied, curiously. The rest of the teenage supervillain team were still emerging from their rooms. First came the dogs and their erstwhile alpha, then the runaway Vasil, and finally their leader with a skinny girl in glasses that Coil didn’t recognise, both of them looking rather sheepish. 

“It’s a time for goodwill and celebration,” Coil answered, completely ignoring the question in favour of his own speech, “and because you’ve all been so nice this year, I’ve brought presents!” 

With a snap of his fingers, his little mercenary elves flooded the room, distributing gifts to the baffled teens. New chew toys for the dogs that just so happened to be plush dolls from the Protectorate’s gift shop, a book on how not to be an asshole for Regent, a lifetime’s supply of aspirin for every other member of the team... 

Coil frowned. He hadn’t bought anything for the new girl, who was still hiding away at the back of the room. 

“Uhm... here, Merry Christmas,” he said, slapping a sticky bow on Dinah’s head and shoving the preteen into her arms. 

Tattletale was staring at him, clutching the fox onesie in her arms that had been her gift. 

“You still don’t recognise me, do you dear?” 

She answered with a high-pitched fake laugh. “Of course I do. But just in case some of the others haven’t figured it out, why don’t you tell everyone?” 

Smiling under his mask, Coil quickly pulled down his fake beard. The look of shock on her face was reward enough for this entire endeavour. Oh, the years he had wasted, never once experiencing this feeling. Well, no more. 

“And when you come into work next week, you’ll find far more reasonable hours, and no more threats against your life!” He spread his arms wide, to give her the greatest Christmas gift she could have ever asked for. 

Turning to his merry mercenaries, Coil added, “That goes for all of you as well! Better hours, no more sadistic torture in disposable realities, and never again shall you face another threat from yours truly!” 

Running back outside, Coil raised his voice to the heavens. 

“Brockton! To everyone I have ever held hostage, forcefully coerced, or otherwise threatened with bodily harm! As of this day, you’re all free to go!” 

An almighty cheer rose across the bay, sweeping through the city with the morning light. A few of his little elves were arguing among themselves at the proclamation, so with all the haste of a man who had seen the light, Coil sidled through the crowd towards them. 

“Mr. Trickster! A Merry Christmas to you, sir!” 

Trickster tipped his hat, which in turn tipped a second smaller, elf-shaped hat that was resting on top. “And to you, Mr. Coil.” 

“It’s a new day my boy, and a better one for you all. That little problem of yours in the basement, this is the year we’ll get her fixed, I can promise you that!” 

He watched as Trickster’s mouth turned up at the corners. “Well, thank you Mister Coil. Thank you very, very much.” 

The chant ran throughout the crowd, all of them looking at the man in the Santa outfit with new eyes. 

“Thank you very much,” they chanted. 

“Thank you very much,” they sang, with cheer in their hearts. 

“That’s the nicest thing that anyone’s ever done for me,” echoed the chorus. 

With his singing choir behind him, Coil led the group through the city streets, spreading joy to all he crossed. Traffic stopped at the lights as his procession marched through the bay, the drivers abandoning their cars to join in the festivities. The PRT were called, but because impromptu choreographed dance sessions are not technically against the law, they had no choice but to join themselves. 

And so it was that on Christmas morning, a little city on the east coast woke to sounds of merriment and joy. The revellers eventually stopped on the edge of the coastline, and danced until they could dance no longer, as a floating oil rig watched over the raucous occasion. 

Coil looked back, and watched the maniac crowd without feeling the need to manipulate them for his own ends. He smiled as Grue popped and locked while wearing a Christmas sweater, as Tattletale did the Dougie in a fox onesie, as Glory Girl and Gallant re-enacted the lift scene from Dirty Dancing that every couple has tried at least once only to quickly stop when the guy realises his girlfriend is a lot heavier than he first thought... 

Quietly, he snuck away, uncaring of what plots or machinations they might all concoct. Alone, he walked to the edge of the city, where the festivities were quieter, and looked south to the place where his partner had once lived. 

Silently, he inclined his head, and whispered a final thank you to Atticus Cord. 

Hours later, a figure in shining cerulean and silver armour found him still standing there. Placing a reassuring gauntlet on his shoulder, Armsmaster wrapped up this tale of festive cheer. 

“Holiday spirit or not, you’re still under arrest.” 

There was only one thing Coil could say to that. 

“Bah, humbug.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This snip was part of Cauldron's give-a-fic-a-thon for Christmas, and was a gift to Distraktion! Hope you don't mind that I stole the ending from the 1970 Scrooge film.


End file.
